Ovzul
by Alamorlan
Summary: He was a man of great height and stature, with a full head and beard of black hair. His voice was deep and smooth, with an air of power that sent shivers down the spines its audience. He spoke well, and his words were absolute. His voice was trustworthy. He was a Nord, and yet he was greater than just a simple man. He was Ovzul, and his Thu'um would change the landscape of time.
1. Chapter 1

**It's been quite a while since I've posted anything on this website, much less any other website. I've been having a hard time with classes lately, and I haven't had any rest during the Summer either, due to Summer classes. Anyway, I thought it might be interesting to start something new (as usual, if you've paid attention to me at all since I started posting), so here's a little touch of Skryim for you.**

 **Obviously, I'll be using my own Skyrim name, though I do believe I've added a touch of influence to it.**

 **I do not own The Elder Scrolls, Skryim, Dawnguard, Dragonborn, Hearthfire, or anything involved with The Elder Scrolls series. The only thing I own is my character.**

The sound of the prison-cart's wheels echoed in his head as varying levels of darkness swirled around in his sight. He struggled to flutter his eyelids open even a fraction of an inch as the cart hit a pebble in the road and jolted him upwards. The binds on his hands rubbed jaggedly against his rough skin, and even though he was hardly holding onto consciousness, he could feel that his wrists would look red and swollen if he could see them. The lungs in his chest fought to pull in enough air to allow him to slowly regain consciousness, and the thoughts in his head swam as he subconsciously tried to raise it higher than his chest.

His lungs finally filled all the way up, but his chest was aflame, as if he had been crunched into that position for days, and he let out a sputter of a cough when he felt the fluid in his lungs flare up with his breath. Finally, once his breath returned to him, he started to pick up more sounds from around him, and he could finally feel the cold sting in the air from the bitter cold of the north. He was in Skryim, on the northern fringes of the continent of Tamriel, he realized. Of course he was; he had been trying to hunt deer in the Hold of Falkreath, near the gate leading into Cyrodiil, when he was crudely clubbed in the back of the head with the hilt of an Imperial's sword. How silly it was that a simple blow to the head had made him forget that little detail.

Gradually, he worked up the courage to open his eyes into tiny slats, the back of a set of Imperial Armor becoming visible to him at first glance. The light reflecting off of the snow was bright, though, and he was quick to slam his eyes shut again for a moment before making sure he was looking down and opening them again. There his hands were, bound by a tight rope of twine, his wrists bloody and raw. How crude. He opened his palms up and stretched his fingers out as best he could with his binds on. They were sore from two, perhaps three hours of clenching shut in the same position. If he didn't know any better, he would say it was similar to the feeling of gripping a greatsword for too lo-

"Hey, you... You're finally awake! You were trying to cross the border, right? Y'walked right into that Imperial ambush, th'same as us and that thief over there," a voice called from in front of his seat on the carriage. He raised his head and blinked the light from the snow out of his pupils, resting his focusing gaze on a ragged blond man in blue-clothed and tan-quilted armor, bound in the same wrappings as he was. He didn't get much chance to examine the man's features though, as another voice pierced his hearing from the right.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along; the Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been lookin' for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell," a man in rags with brown hair and dirtied sideburns said, "You there- you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The first man, the one in blue spoke up once more, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" the guard at the front of the wagon spoke up, an accent that was plainly from the western edges of Cyrodiil making itself known. The prisoners ignored the Imperial and looked instead at the last prisoner on the wagon, a man in tattered, unique-looking fur garb. His clothes, while rugged, were clearly not something a common man wore.

"What's wrong with him, eh?" the sneakthief asked, nodding his head at the man in rugged clothes, bound and gagged at the back of the cart.

"Watch your tongue! You speak to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" the man in quilted armor chastised, though his chiding was amusing given that they were all bound in twine at the moment.

"Ulfric Stormcloak... the Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. If they've captured you... Oh Gods, where are they taking us!?" the man with sideburns fretted.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovnegarde awaits," the man who had identified Jarl Ulfric returned, gazing ahead at the road in front of the carriage, "Hey, horse-thief, what village are you from?"

"Why do you care?" The aforementioned horse-thief morosely asked, glancing down at the floor of the cart in defeat.

"A Nord's last thoughts... should be of home," the first replied in the same tone, almost apologetically.

"Rorikstead... I'm... I'm from Rorikstead..." the thief's words were accompanied by another defeated look at where they were headed, a large wood and straw gate quickly approaching from the front.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!" an Imperial's voice sounded from an area up ahead.

"Good, let's get this over with," an old, experienced voice ground out, the last syllable almost like the finishing cut of a battle in its finality. The man in blue raised his head and looked behind the cart as it passed the gate, glaring at the originator of the voice and his cohorts, gesturing to them with an angry nod of the head.

"Look at him: General Tullius, the military governor... and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damned elves, I bet they had something to do with this," he hatefully spat out, licking his lips in aggravation and shuffling in his seat as if the presence of the targets of his death-glare made his skin crawl.

The cart pulled forward another hundred feet or so before anyone spoke up again, the blue-armored man taking a sharp breath in through his nose and looking around at their surroundings before opening his mouth again, "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial towers and walls used to make me feel safe."

The carriage passed through the residential area of the town, the gates of which through which they had just passed. The makings of an inn or a large house stood on the left of the carriages as they passed by, lined with people leaning on the guard-rails and glaring at the people in shackles. A small boy, no older than ten or eleven, eyed the carriages and looked up cheerily at his father, bouncing as he sat with his legs crossed on the stairs.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" the child inquired, as children are wont to do.

"You need to go inside, little cub," the child's father replied, stepping down to the stairs of his porch and ushering his child toward the door of their home.

"Why? I wanna watch the soldiers!" the little boy responded, halfheartedly standing up and inching his way toward the door as slowly as he could manage.

"Inside the house. Now," his father sternly spurned, giving his son a serious look and gently pushing him through the doorway, following to make sure his child did not sneak out of the house to watch the soldiers and their quarry of prisoners.

The horse-drawn carriage gradually slowed down, halting in front of another gate beside a guard-tower, the black and red banners of the Imperial Legion fluttering on posts on either side of the tower-gate. Imperial soldiers gathered around the carriages cautiously, their hands on their swords and their mouths stoically set to a sober half-frown, their gear clinking as they unloaded prisoners from a separate prison cart.

"Why have we stopped?" The sneakthief sputtered out, nearly standing out of his wooden seat due to the foregone conclusion of that question.

"Why do you think?" the golden-haired Stormcloak responded in a sullen tone, "End of the line. Let's go; we shouldn't keep th' gods waiting for us."

All of the prisoners in the cart shuffled to their feet, moving to the rear of the cart and lining up to jump off. The horse-thief protested, but the Stormcloak soldier silenced him, pushing him forward off of the cart. When they were all standing behind the cart, a woman in what was obviously an officer's battledress stepped forward, her attendant following alongside her with a board, parchment, and a pen.

"Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!" the officer commanded, waving forward her assistant to step up beside the prisoners in shackles.

"The Empire loves their damned lists..." the Stormcloak mumbled under his breath, spitting on the ground beside him and grinding it into the ground with his fur boot.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, step up," the assistant called out. The broad-shouldered man stepped forward with the gag in his mouth, glaring holes into the Imperial officer as he passed toward the headblock near the entrance to the tower. The Stormcloak soldier looked down at the ground in front of him and sighed, watching his leader move toward his execution ground.

"It 'as been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the man whispered as he crossed his arms and stared at his chest.

"Ralof of Riverwood, step forward," the assistant called out this time. The Stormcloak soldier, now known to be Ralof of Riverwood, shouldered his way past the horse-thief, licking his drying lips and hatefully burning a glare into the eyes of the assistant who dared speak not only his own name, but that of Ulfric Stormcloak.

"Lokir of Rorikstead, step forward," the man with the clipboard thumbed the third name and yelled. The man in rags, Lokir, stepped forward and hesitated for a moment before stomping his front foot in distress.

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" he shouted. Without warning or body language, an impressive feat for a man with no training, Lokir shot forward in an attempt to escape from his impending execution. He passed a house and a watch-tower before the Imperial officer reacted, shouting at him.

"Halt!" she called out for the thief. When it was clear that Lokir had no intention of being led to his execution, she raised her arm and dropped it straight to her side, yelling out, "Archers, fire!"

Lokir stood no chance against four of the Legion's best longbowman, and so his story ended on the road toward the town's exit, three arrows in his back and one in the back of his neck, piercing his throat from behind. He passed out, but did not die until a combination of a lack of breath and exsanguination worked together.

"Does anyone else feel like running?" the officer taunted toward the rest of the prisoners. When no one broke for the exit, she resumed her duties.

"Wait, you there, step forward," the board-wielding man called out to _him_. _He_ stepped forward, and the man did not see anymore names on his list, so the man with the clipboard looked up, wide-eyed, at _him_ in confusion. "Who... are you?"

 _He_ was a towering Nord with pale white skin, standing at nearly one and a half times the height of the man with the clipboard, dwarfing the soldiers with his height of just over two meters. His shoulders were broad, and it would not have been out of place to question how he would fit on the carriage with so many other prisoners. His black-bearded face gave away his grizzled past in small amounts, a scar over and under his left eye indicating a close encounter with a beast or man about which only he knew. His eyes were shockingly purple, with an unusual bright tint to them. They pierced through the man with the clipboard like an arrow through flesh, and the fact that his long black hair covered nearly half of his irises did nothing to stop this. His expression was stock and stoic, betraying none of what he felt despite the situation he found himself locked into. His nose was moderate and not particularly notable, save for a slash similar to the one over his eye. He had high cheek-bones, though his jawline was indiscernible due to his beard.

His mouth, a set of two thin, relatively pink, and diagonally scarred from left to right (perhaps from the same wound as the eye slash, the man with the list noted) lines across the bottom half of his face, opened. Immediately, an extremely deep, booming, and surprisingly smooth voice freed itself from his lungs.

"I am Valrulf Ovzul," he smoothly released with his lips, his voice the deepest either of the Imperial soldiers had ever heard. It felt, surprisingly to the officer and the subordinate, as if some mysterious power washed over them when they heard such a voice. The man with the list blinked and shook off the feeling, turning to his superior and holding up his list.

"Ma'am, he isn't on the list," he said, pointing to the massive Nord.

"To Oblivion with the list. He goes to the block," the officer coldly responded, obviously not caring much for innocence or guilt in any case.

"By your word, Captain," the subordinate swore, turning back to Valrulf, "I am sorry, kinsman. At least you will die here in Skryim, your homeland. Follow the captain, prisoner."

Valrulf merely nodded his head once, following the officer toward the chopping block and standing in the group of soon-to-be-killed battle-brothers. The headsman, who had been sharpening his chopping ax with a wheelstone until this point, stepped up to the chopping block and stabbed the butt of his head-cleaver into the ground, standing a head taller than the rest of the men, save Valrulf, who towered over him by a quarter of a meter. Once all of the soldiers and prisoners were in place, the officer stepped forward and delivered the order for the first prisoner to reach the block.

The chaplain, a woman in a brown robe and yellow hood, started the last rites for the man who stepped up to the block as soon as the man stepped up, but he cut her off sharply. Valrulf noted his kinsman's final words, "Gods woman, shut your mouth and get it over with. I haven't got all day."

"Very well," the chaplain spat out, annoyed at having been rudely interrupted in the midst of a religious rite, "headsman, captain..."

The captain stepped up next to the chopping block and gave the headsman the order to execute the prisoner. The executioner, eager to test out the sharpness of his macabre new ax, shoved the first prisoner up for execution down onto his knees, kicking his back so that his head met the chopping block, and gripped his ax with both hands. He raised it high into the air above his back, arcing it forward in a clean swing that effortlessly decapitated the man on the block and sent his body toppling sideways toward the prisoners.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof stated sadly, watching as the corpsmen carried the body away to prepare the block for the next prisoner.

"You there, err... Valrulf, you're next. Step up to the block," the captain called out, sternly attempting to usher Valrulf toward his execution. The man, who was much taller and much larger than her, raised an eyebrow as she attempted to walk behind him and shove him forward, succeeding only in making him lean forward a bit and nearly pushing herself back.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I would prefer to use my legs. Save your strength for when the Stormcloaks discover you've captured and possibly executed their leader. You'll need it," Valrulf cut haphazardly at the woman and her empire. He walked forward toward the block, stopping in front of the executioner and looking down the man, who (surprised to be staring up at someone rather than down) looked back up with a careful and slightly fearful glare, knowing fully well that shackled men could still be dangerous.

There was an odd sound in the background of this scene, like a roaring bear but deeper and longer in length. It went ignored by all but the shackled Ovzul, who felt a strange tug on something deep within himself that made him long to move to action. Instead, he crouched to his knees next to the chopping block and placed his head on the bloody chunk of stone.

The sound repeated, this time closer. Out of the corner of his violet eyes, Valrulf caught sight of what looked like a flying lizard, dark and covered in spiky scales. He blinked, being reminded of the tales of dragons he had once heard as a child. Instead of shouting out to those around him, he hummed a small sound of surprise to himself and watched as the executioner raised his ax behind himself to strike.

The headsman never reached the beginning of his arc, as the flying lizard landed on the tower behind him and caused the earth to shake around Helgen. Valrulf immediately rolled off of the block and stood to his feet in the wake of this earthquake, headbutting the executioner, who had been struggling to keep on his feet. He then fell down onto his back when the black lizard let out a roar that shook his vision and impaired his hearing. The skies began to fall, large pieces of stone and fire falling from the heavens to strike building and man alike.

He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head to get rid of the ringing and looking around to take stock of the situation around him. Buildings had already started collapsing, and the watch-tower in front of which the chopping block stood was reduced to half its original height by the weight of a large boulder that had slammed into its crenellations. Suddenly, he felt hands on his back and sharply turned to meet eyes with Ralof, who tugged him along the road toward a building that had not been hit yet.

"Come on! The gods won't give us another chance!" the rebel shouted, making Valrulf nod and begin jogging alongside the soldier in blue.

They reached another Helgen watch tower and rushed inside the doorway, meeting Ulfric and a host of wounded and near-dead Stormcloaks. Ralof slammed the door closed behind them and paced in the room for a moment as Ulfric tended to one of the wounded soldiers. After a few moments of nothing but the sounds of fire and the rage of a dragon outside the tower, Ulfric stood and met Ralof mid-stride, stopping him and looking at him expectantly.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof fearfully asked.

"Legends don't burn down buildings," Ulfric replied, grabbing Ralof by the arm and bringing him over to the stairs of the tower, where Valrulf followed and listened to the sounds of destruction booming from outside the tower. Suddenly, as Ulfric was questioning Ralof about the dragon outside, an earthquake shook the tower and a block of stone fell from the floor above, crushing one of the wounded Stormcloaks and trapping the legs of the other beneath its weight. Those men were lost, as there was not enough time to attempt a rescue with an irate dragon crushing the town.

"We need to move, now!" Ulfric shouted to Ralof and Valrulf.

Ralof grabbed Valrulf's arm and pointed at the stairs, which would crumble at any moment by the looks of their stone, and shouted, "There! Up through the tower, let's go!"

The two sprinted up the tower's stairway two steps at a time, stopping at the top where fallen stone blocked the second stairway. There, a Stormcloak was frantically lifting and tossing rocks in order to free the stairs and make way to flee, but in the middle of a stone's throw, the head of the dragon pierced through the stone of the tower and slammed the unnamed soldier into the rocks behind him. Valrulf thought that the dragon would leave after effortlessly killing the only human visible from the hole he made with his head, but received a nasty surprise when the dragon opened his maw.

"YOL, TOOR-SHUL!" what looked like an incarnation of Akatosh shouted through the hole in the wall. Without any further warning, the silhouette of the hole was darkened by an intense flame that flowed out of the dragon's mouth and straight toward the fallen Stormcloak, who was immolated in less than a second. The dragon dropped off of the tower and landed in the streets below once his flames were through with their job, leaving the men in the tower terrified. Ralof regained his bearings and ran up to the hole in the wall, pointing to the half-burned inn below.

"That inn down there, jump down through the roof and don't stop running!" he yelled over the sounds of a one-dragon war raging outside. Without question or hesitation, Valrulf strode toward the hole and jumped as high and as far as he could, making a rough and creaky landing on the wooden floor of the inn's second story. He took no time to look around at his surroundings and instead aimed straight toward the stairs, where he was met with a missing wall and a direct path to the road. When he pushed through the inn into the light of the outside, he saw the man with the list and two other Imperial soldiers attempting to usher a child out of the path of the dragon's destruction. The dragon flew overhead and lit the road up right behind the child, but he reached safety just in time to avoid being burned by the dragon's shout.

In the haze and confusion that resulted from the fire, and the relative joy of the Imperials for having saved the child, Valrulf rushed through the still-burning flames with a shout and avoided being spotted by the Imperials out of sheer luck. He then sprinted to an alleyway between two houses and found a sharp piece of metal sticking out of a pile of rubble and attached to a hand. It appeared to be the remains of an Imperial sword. He used this blade to cut his bonds and then took off through the alley, stepping out of the shadows just in time to avoid being set aflame by a stray shout of the dragon.

Valrulf managed to pass through half of a burning house before the dragon noticed him and took aim, launching a gale of fire at him with yet another vigorous shout. Fortunately, there was a small cubby in the wall that he could use for cover, and he tore off towards the road again once the flames cut off. He leaped out of the house past the Imperials that made futile attempts to pierce the dragon's hide and bounded down the road as quickly as his legs could take him. As soon as he passed under an archer's overpass, he nearly slammed into Ralof, who had managed to find an ax of iron and remove his bonds. Ralof extended a hand toward the towering man. After a moment's hesitation, he shook it and Ralof pointed toward a stone barracks, raising his voice.

"There, into the keep!" the Stormcloak directed, striding toward the doors of the barracks and making quickly for the handle. Valrulf instead used his shoulder to break open the doors, sending splinters everywhere as the two men rushed inside to relative safety. There was a moment of peace inside the walls of the keep as the two men took stock of their situation and each took a moment to ponder the choices they had.

There was the body of a Stormcloak on the floor, his chest ripped open by what looked to be a sword's slash. Valrulf took the man's ax, but left his clothes as they were both ruined and much too small to be of any use to him. He would have to find some way to have armor made for him when this debacle was over, but his ax would do for now. Valrulf heard loud clanking noises coming from a nearby hallway- a surefire way to tell that Imperial soldiers were on their way. He slammed his shoulder into the wall next to the gate through which the origins of the sounds would arrive, baring his ax and twirling it around in his hand to get a feel of the weight.

The clinking of Imperial armor neared the gate that stood fast as cover for the two Nords until the sound of metal upon metal was the only audible thing in the hallway. Eventually, four Imperial soldiers and an Imperial officer all stood at the bars of the door, swords in hand and bared forward in case of attack. They did not know that Valrulf and Ralof hid behind the stone doorway, though how they could not see his mass of pale skin or his shadow on the floor, Valrulf did not know. He pushed his body up against the wall keeping him safe from discovery, almost afraid to move at all, lest the Imperials realize the ambush they were walking into.

Fortunately for the massive black-haired Nord and his companion, the soldiers seemed too distressed by the current situation of Helgen to look around for much more than a second, and the officer unlocked the door, running past the waiting ambush toward the main door, only to turn around when she heard the commotion behind her. The last two of her men were dead upon the ground before she turned completely around, and the middle two troops had just reached her and began to turn around when she started moving toward the two Nord prisoners.

Valrulf sidestepped a backhanded swipe from the officer's blade that would have sliced up his body from hip to shoulder, moving in closer to the woman and rapidly tugging her arm forward as she attempted to draw back her arm and stab him in the stomach. She flew past him with her sword arm outstretched, stopping herself before she crashed into a wall. When she managed to right her direction, she just barely managed to escape the fist that flew over her head as she dodged low, twirling out from under the huge man's arm and swinging her sword at him with an overhead cleave at his arm. Valrulf, instead of dodging or taking the swing and possibly losing his arm, moved into her guard as she left herself exposed, bringing his left arm up over her head and slamming it into the crevice of her sword arm.

The blade clattered to the ground with a loud crash, and Valrulf used the shock of the officer's disarmament as an opportunity to sling her into the incoming body of one of the remaining two Imperial rankers, who had just managed to make a charge toward him. The officer's back slammed into the chest of the Imperial soldier and sent both of them rocketing toward the ground. The giant of a man turned his head and watched Ralof stab the second guard in the chest with the man's own sword, sidestepping and shoving the man's front (sword still buried in his chest) into a wall as hard as he could by the back of the head.

Valrulf leaned down and grabbed the sword of the officer by the hilt, using the split second that he had to feel the weight of the blade before flinging it toward the living Imperials. Ralof, who had just removed the sword from the Imperial he had fought, turned around to see the blade fly through the air and just miss the officer's chest as she stood in shock. She raised her arms and looked down to see that the blade had not hit her before turning around and watching her last soldier fall backwards with the sword buried hilt-deep in his chest.

The woman turned her head back toward Valrulf in time to watch him intimidatingly stalk toward her with the ax in his hand, his ragged appearance and prisoner's clothing lying about his intentions. The officer, disarmed and completely helpless against the man who had just expertly handled that situation, backed up against a wall, where she almost stepped on the body of her compatriot, slumped halfway into the wall. Before she could think to reach down and grab the blade from her dead man, Valrulf brought the ax up to her neck.

"Don't think about it," Valrulf growled, "You'll be dead before it even clears his chest."

"What... what are you going to do with me?" the officer fearfully asked, looking at Ralof, the only other living person in the room, for help, only to see him glare at the back of Valrulf's head; it was clear that he did not like where this seemed to be going.

"Hmph. I don't kill women if I can help it. Fortunately for you, you dropped that sword when I hit your arm. If you had trained a little more, you would be dead right now," Valrulf gruffly stated, reaching down with his free hand and sliding the sword out of the Imperial soldier's chest, tossing it behind him with a clatter. The woman looked down at her dead soldier and fearfully back up at Valrulf.

"I'm as w-worthy of a soldier's death as any man under my command," she argued, her training kicking in and convincing her to reach for death rather than capture.

"You're as good with a sword as any Imperial soldier I've ever met, I'll give you that; but unfortunately for your beliefs, I'm not asking whether you want to die here or not," he replied, the ax in his hand threatening to slice the skin of the officer as she took in a deep breath and swallowed out of nervousness.

"Then what do you want?" she asked, her back pressing into the wall further as she looked at the face of the towering man.

"The dragon outside- the one with the black wings that's destroying this executioner's town- it's focusing on the town itself right now. From the way that this place was placed against the stones of the hills, this keep leads quite a bit underground before it comes to an exit. You're going to come with us to the exit," the tall Nord commanded, turning his head and looking at Ralof, "and you're going to keep an eye on her if we run into any opposition. I'll take care of them if we do."

"Prisoner... I'm only going to ask you this once more. If you don't tell me the answer to the question, I'll... I'll make you slit my throat. What. Do. You. Want with me?" the officer emphasized the question so she could be sure Valrulf understood exactly what she meant.

"You're stubborn," Valrulf calmly pointed out, backing off from the woman and tucking his ax into the twine of his prisoner's outfit, "but I suppose I should tell you. You're my prisoner until we get out of here, just to make sure that if I or... err... Ralof over there get captured by some of your friends, we have someone to trade. When we get to the exit, I'm releasing you. The Imperials will be after you for treason and desertion if we get out of here alive, so if you don't feel like running off on your own, you're coming with me to a hold capitol to help me get gear and then you can stay with me as long as you like," he explained, looking at Ralof and grinning as if he knew what had been going on in Ralof's mind.

"But... that's preposterous! How would you know what the Imperial Army would do in this situation? What makes you think they'll try me for treason? Why, even if all of that is certain, would I travel with someone who just slaughtered a squad of my men?" she yelled, obviously much less constrained after having the ax removed from her throat.

"They tied me up and sentenced me to death for being at the border. I wasn't even trying to cross- I was just at the border, resting at the gate. The man who ran, though you probably didn't see him, was sentenced to death for horse thievery. If they so much as suspect that you helped us, you'll be tried for treason. You would need to stay out of sight and out of mind for the Imperials for some time before they forgot about you. As for why you would go with someone who just slaughtered your men, well... that's exactly why you should consider traveling with me if you don't want to die. The proof of the pie is in the eating, and you just had a big slice," the Nord, surprisingly astute for his race and combat habits, logically explained to her.

The officer paled as the Nord in front of her explained his reasoning to her. She realized that she could attempt escape, but it was unlikely that she would get away from both of them, especially since the black-haired one seemed to be in an extensively fit condition and she was still in heavy, clinking armor. If she did attempt to escape, it would have to be before any of the men in the cave beneath them spotted her with the prisoners, else she would be arrested for treason should she manage to escape. With a bit of hesitation and a deep, nearly tearful breath, she shook her head and crossed her arms.

"I'll go with you, but when we get out, you **wil** **l** let me keep a weapon at all times, and you **will** make sure that I am safe from the Imperial Army **and** yourself," she demanded of him, getting a large, bright-white grin from him, yet again surprising her with his level of civilization for a prisoner with such militaristic vigor in combat.

"On a Nord's honor, shieldmaiden, you'll have a blade and your safety so long as you keep with me. As for Ralof over there, I think he plans on returning to the Stormcloak cause," Valrulf said, looking over at Ralof to confirm.

"Yes, Ulfric's cause needs men to help fight the Imperials," Ralof nodded his affirmation. Valrulf Ovzul turned back toward the woman officer against the wall and raised an eyebrow.

"What is your name, shieldmaiden?" he inquired.

"I am Lieutenant... err... I am Ayala Vedarus. The blond man in the doorway is named Ralof. What is your name, prisoner?" she replied, fumbling with her cuirass as she tried to avoid the hostility of the word "prisoner."

"I suppose you weren't here when I announced my name to the man at the carts. I am Valrulf Ovzul of Windhelm," at her raised eyebrow, he explained, "I was at the southern border hunting the Falkreath Hold deer. They are more plentiful and well-fed in Falkreath than they are in the north. I was resting at the border when two platoons of Imperial soldiers whose sets of armor were bloodied from battle arrived and arrested me on sight; said I was near the location of a battle and that apparently constituted treason. I didn't bring any of my gear, and so there was no way for me to fight them all," he explained.

"Fight them all!? Are you mad!? One man against two platoons of Imperial soldiers is suicide!" the officer shouted.

"It is suicide, yes, for the Imperials," the man grinned again, showing off his white smile, "but neither of us are Imperials. You have an Imperial name, but your blood and accent are those of a Nord. Why do you fight for the Imperials, shieldmaiden?"

"I was born in northern Cyrodiil to Nordic parents who moved south to be closer to the Imperial City. They traded with merchants there. My family's original name was Vithrul, but they Imperialized it to fit in. My father always had an accent, though, so I don't know why he thought it would help. I joined the Imperial Army because I didn't want to be a farmer like my parents," she answered. Instantly, she could see that the Nord in front of her light up with an idea.

"Your old name, did you use it when you signed up for the Imperial Army?" he asked, nodding when he saw her shake her head in the negative, "Good. When we get out, you'll retake your family's old name. Vithrul is common Nordic, but the name Vedarus would be easily recognized. There are plenty of people with the name "Vithrul" in Skyrim's many towns. Ayala is a common first name. You'll blend right in as long as you keep anything you picked up from Cyrodiil quiet," the man proposed. The officer swished that thought around in her head for a little while before nodding.

"I... wasn't really good at being an officer in the Army anyway. I always thought there were too many unnecessary and strenuous rules," she replied, smiling at the laughter she received from both men in the room.

"Oh, that's too bad for you, Ayala! I'm a man with many stringent rules. We'll have to go over the Valrulf Companion Rulebook someday. Here's one: Don't stand in the doorway of a room I've just entered," the Ovzul jested, letting out a humored snort when he saw her raise an eyebrow.

"Why?" she questioned.

"Because the last time that happened, I couldn't get out of the room and I ended up having to shove my companion out of the way. He didn't like that," he continued to joke, slowly gravitating the group toward the stairs behind the first metal door through which the Imperials had appeared.

"I could imagine he wouldn't. Why didn't you just ask him to move?" Ayala suggested, though she suspected that it was not that simple at the time. She was right.

"He kept on repeating the same phrase over and over again, then he pulled out a piece of bread and started eating it as if nothing were happening at all. Odd man, that one was," Valrulf extrapolated, stepping down the first half of the flight of stairs into the dungeons below.

"He sounds like one," the Vithrul woman replied, making sure her armor did not make a noise as she stepped down the stairs.

"I'll tell you more when we get out of here. I think we're annoying Ralof by delaying," he replied, looking at the irate face of the Stormcloak following them.

"Chatting is fine if you do it after we get out. Until then, please, lead on," Ralof said.

Without further discussion, Valrulf lightly pushed Ayala forward to get her to move, and the two men followed behind their much more willing prisoner.


	2. Chapter 2

**The second chapter is here already, mainly because I want to break the 10k word barrier for views. The Elder Scrolls series receives quite a few less views than would be expected on this site, so you have to break word boundaries to get views, usually.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series or any of its material.**

 **I skipped the torture-room and such because I really don't feel like unleashing the M-rating of this story yet. I'm sure you understand.**

As the group made their way through the caves of the keep, they found that they had a few moments of walking free-time to talk a bit more without stopping. Once they had made sure there were no Imperial soldiers in the cave immediately in their path, they walked cautiously toward the exit, knowing that one of the chambers of the cave had to house at least a few soldiers to make sure prisoners did not escape. Along their pathway lining the river, Ayala found the words to form the conversation everyone already knew was to come.

"You showed an incredible nerve, killing my men without hesitation. How are your nerves so steely?" she asked, her own body still jittering from the adrenaline coursing through her, the Nord in her blood and mind excited at the prospect of the fight, but the young Imperial officer in her frightened at the same.

"Hm. I showed as much nerve in killing them as you did mourning them. It's rather blunt of me to ask of you, but if you explain that, I'll explain your question's answer as well," Valrulf replied, looking down at the short blonde woman beside him for a moment before turning his head back to their path, making sure they did not run into any unexpected resistance.

"They... Well... I didn't get to know any of the men that served under me. As you probably know with how experienced you sound, each platoon, known as a centuria, has a captain, usually referred to as a centurion. That captain always has at least one praefect, a lieutenant. Usually, as there are two squads, referred to as contubernia, there are also two praefects. Under each praefect there is one quaestor, a sergeant. The man that you killed with the throw was my sergeant. I don't even remember his name.

"Because of the structure of the Imperial Legion, commonly referred to as the Imperial Army, or just the Imperials, fraternization between officer and enlisted or conscripted ranks is strictly frowned upon. The legates believe that knowing our men will make us unwilling to lead them to their deaths. I understand the sentiment, because I know I wouldn't want to lose a friend or family member to a battle if I had any. Still, I'm a Nord, and my blood tells me that every shield-brother and sister should be a friend close enough to my heart for us to truly be blood," Ayala lengthily explained, looking up at Valrulf ever two or three seconds to make sure he was still listening, something that annoyed Ralof, who felt like the third wheel in the conversation despite knowing what the two were talking about.

"Right, I knew that your Legion tried to keep officers from speaking or drinking with the rankers, but I didn't think about how that would numb the officers. I've always grown up believing in the old Nord ways, where everyone you fight with is family in battle, if not in blood. That troubles me- I don't think I could have been an Imperial soldier," Valrulf issued his reply, raising his eyebrows as he thought about the information in a new way, "But somehow you managed it for at least a few years. You sound like you've got a good, bookish head upon your shoulders, unlike the lug we're walking next to, eh Ralof?"

Ralof blinked and looked at Valrulf oddly, opening his mouth and furrowing is eyebrows before raising a hand with an index finger up and pointing something out:

"You've only known me for less than two hours. What are you talking about, tiny?" Ralof returned fire with a small jab at Valrulf's size.

"I'm just talking about how you should try to read more, like our educated friend Ayala," Valrulf poked, getting an indignant snort out of Ralof and an embarrassed and slightly amused chuckle from the Nordic woman in question.

"Whatever you say, friend. I'm a Nord; we learn through battle, not through books," Ralof brought up the heritage trump card, sure to win in an argument against a Nord, so it was written in the ancient texts.

"I'm a Nord as well, so until you can pull off what I did upstairs without accidentally impaling the girl you're trying not to kill like I did, I wouldn't talk about which between heritage and books is better at teaching," Valrulf combated the heritage trump card with the proof-of-action trump card, immediately tearing down Ralof's jesting argument. The tall man winked at Ayala and mouthed a countdown from three to her. Right as he reached zero, Ralof opened his mouth to speak again.

"That's... just not fair. You led me into that one," Ralof let out a small chortle at the end of his accusation and shook his head, snorting indignantly again and trying (and failing) to glare at Valrulf vengefully. The massive Nord grinned at Ayala, who seemed amazed that he had predicted Ralof's reaction so well.

Their relatively peaceful conversation, all things considered, ended when the Ovzul amongst them heard voices from ahead of them, though a man-sized hole in the rock-wall of the cave. Immediately, he reached an arm out and pushed himself against the wall beside the opening, his outstretched arm's palm pushing Ayala by the stomach and holding her up against the wall beside him. Ralof lightly pressed himself up against the wall on the other side of the opening and tugged the sword from his belt. Valrulf carefully took his ax out from his prisoner's twine and motioned for the group to move forward slowly.

They emerged from the opening in a crouch, Ayala surprisingly cooperating with them and even imitating their motions to try and move as silently as possible. In the chamber of the cave they had just entered, the river flowed toward the exit of the mountain and underneath a small bridge of wooden design, put there to allow the guardsmen on duty to cross in case of a pursuit or patrol. Just a few feet from the beginning of the bridge was an Imperial light soldier with a wooden bow and a dagger. There were no other men with him, and he was gazing into the flowing water of the river as it passed by, most likely contemplating the nature of the occasional earthquake or sound that he experienced from the town above him. His orders were to stay on post until dismissed, and so he remained instead of leaving to investigate.

Unfortunately for him, he was in the way of the three escapees (or two escapees and one prisoner, though Valrulf liked it the other way), who needed to cross the bridge in order to get to the opening in the mountain beyond. The tallest of the trio, Valrulf, was also louder than Ralof, though he was quieter than Ayala due to her armor, and so Ralof was volunteered by default to sneak up on the man on guard-duty. The heavy-accented man inched forward in a steady crouch, nary a step being taken without first checking for pebbles or stones he could slip on or accidentally kick. He was right behind the Imperial when the guard decided to turn around and look at the entrance again. Ralof, in a small moment of panic, swiftly brought his sword up in his arm and stabbed the guardsman in the throat with it, silencing the man just as he noticed Ralof's presence.

Valrulf was by Ralof's side before either Ayala or Ralof could make a decision on what to do with the body, and the black-haired man casually pushed the body of the Imperial into the head-high ditch that contained the flow of the river. Without looking back, they continued over the bridge into another, smaller chamber, where the river still continued from a wall to their left, obviously having curved around somewhere after passing under the rock in the last chamber. This chamber contained furnishings for a guard-post, and so Valrulf and Ayala were immediately on-guard. Ralof took a moment before he was back into the right mind to examine the situation, but he eventually moved to the side and ushered his arm forward to signal to Valrulf.

"The guards here will be the last in the cave before the exit. Look at how the post is set up- it's obvious that the exit is in the next chamber," he whispered almost inaudibly to his two partners in escape. He pointed at the way the checkpoint seemed to focus on the exit of the chamber into what looked like a much smaller chamber of the cave. The man at the bridge was the only guard for the Helgen route, while the four beds at the post pointed toward the fact that the remaining three (one bed was for the bridge guardsman) were positioned at their current chamber. Every chair and balcony pointed toward the entrance from the mountain.

"They focused on putting guards facing the entrance from the mountain? Have they had so few prisoners escape that they can afford to focus more on the outside than the inside, or are they trying to stop people from coming in?" Valrulf asked Ayala, who thought about what she knew about the guard-posts. She had been a guard praefect in the keep, so she did not know much about the posts underneath the prison-town, but she knew enough to explain this at least, as it was more in her area.

"You remember that we came through the interrogation and punishment room on the way here, yes? Well, before we got there, we had to pass through a corridor and then go down a flight of stairs. On a normal day, there would be four or six guards lining that hallway, and my men and I would be in the upstairs of the keep, guarding the stores of arrows and rations in case of a siege or some other odd event. My men and I were the last guards left in the keep when you arrived; the rest had run outside to fight the dragon. That's where I was headed when you... err... removed my men from action," Ayala's voice quietened as she nervously looked forward, as if someone from the Legion would appear at any time to arrest her.

Valrulf put a hand on her shoulder to help calm her down, though his fingers reached further down her back than he had expected; he really was massive in comparison to the tiny Nordic woman. She was only just above half his height, and nowhere close to his weight. If they could find her another set of quieter armor, she would be the one that he turned to for sneaking when his use of greatswords and the occasional shield would be too loud and too heavy-handed. She let out a deep breath and pointed toward the exit, where the remaining three guardsmen were emerging into the cave to retake their positions, having looked outside for a moment to see if anything on the side of the mountain was causing the large earthquakes.

Instantly, Valrulf was on-guard again, and he mantled over the wooden fence they were hiding behind (at least attempting to in his situation) to sprint right at the three men. Ayala and Ralof were surprised at his forwardness after listening to the rather sophisticated man speak, but they soon jumped over the fence and joined him in charging. The three Imperials had reached their posts and were staring at the mouth of the cave where the door was, nervous about the loud noises and continual shaking of Nirn around them. The closest of the men to the group of escapees never saw his death coming as a massive beast of a man slammed into his back with a hand-ax, cleaving through the man's back and collapsing the cavity of his chest. He was dead before he felt anything.

At the wet "splurch" that came from the removal of the ax from the dead man, the other two guards turned around and their faces grew grim. They each drew their bows and knocked arrows to the strings, aiming them at Valrulf and grimacing at the sight of their dead compatriot. Valrulf was most certainly intelligent enough to dive behind a rock and avoid being skewered by the two arrows that whizzed by him.

"Come out, prisoner! Face the death sentence that you're running from!" one of the guardsmen shouted, knocking another arrow in unison with his partner, each of them readying themselves to fire at the man who had just slaughtered a member of the Legion.

The two guardsmen were focused on the rock behind which Valrulf hid, and that gave Ayala and Ralof enough of a window to sneak on the other side of the cave, flanking the men and coming up behind them. They were but a few meters away from the men when Ayala stepped on the hole between two floorboards, nearly tripping herself. Her armor, as thick and as heavy as it was, was not designed for stealth, and so the clinking sound of metal-on-metal gave away their position. One of the two Legion soldiers turned around with his bow drawn, ready to shoot if another prisoner made themselves known. Ralof took cover behind a nearby crate of supplies while Ayala stood where she had been crouched, too nervous to move.

"Praefect?" the legionnaire confusedly questioned, walking toward her and loosening his draw, pointing the bow at the ground. He got close enough to touch her, his brows furrowed in confusion, "What are yo-" he never got to finish, as the second after he opened his lips to ask the praefect what she was doing, the point of Ralof's sword stabbed through his left jugular and came out of the other side of his neck, spraying Ayala's armor with drops of red and nearly severing the man's head from his shoulders. He let out a surprised gurgle before sliding sideways off of the blade, thumping onto the ground and choking as his severed airway filled with blood.

The remaining guardsman turned his head to look at his fallen squadmate, not expecting someone, much less a praefect, to sneak up behind them and get one of his friends killed. He turned his head back around and found his vision filled with the metal tint of an iron ax, the last thing he would ever see. Valrulf stood from behind the rock, his right hand still outstretched from having thrown the hand-ax. As he walked toward his fellow escapees, he reached down and tugged the ax out of the Imperial's face, or what was left of it. He wiped off the blade of the ax on the sleeve of his tattered garbs, turning Ayala away from the scene that she was staring at in shock, lightly pushing her toward the exit and whispering.

"Shh, it's alright. Come on, let's leave before any survivors from Helgen find a way into these caves," Valrulf whispered to Ayala, gently moving her forward with the hand on her back. She shook herself out of her shock and nodded her thanks, looking back over her shoulder at the men she had just left behind and apologizing in her mind.

"I'm sorry; I've been in the Legion for four years, but today is the first day I've ever seen combat like this. I'm used to the training of the Legion, or the one-on-one spars us officers had to perform in the academy. My station, well... Permanent guard posts don't see much killing," Ayala murmured, shuffling forward at the speed of Valrulf's push, letting him guide her forward.

"And I suppose the treason charges just recently started appearing with this civil war brewing. I know how you feel; I've done some killing in my life, but the first time I saw it like today, it took me a few days to let it sink in. Don't worry, you're a Nord. You'll find it easier and easier to watch. I just pray for you that it never gets easier to do, because that's what makes you a monster. Now, let's get out of here and get all of us a bath and some fresh clothes, perhaps find a way to get me back up to Windhelm so I can gear up," the larger man replied, looking down at his blood-soaked and tattered prisoner's garb.

"You? Fresh clothes? I'm surprised the Legion had garbs that fit you, you damned giant," Ralof jabbed, laughing when the man he had just made fun of smiled and stood as tall as he could, dwarfing both Ralof and Ayala.

"I'm pretty sure these are actually two garbs torn and resewn to fit me, actually," Valrulf stated, pulling on one of the loose strings where fresh stitches had been sewn into the clothes, "See?"

Ayala shook her head, imagining a masculine Imperial centurion grumbling as he daintily pulled a needle and thread through a prisoner's garb, complaining about a lack of correct requisitioning manifests or something of the like, which caused her to giggle and cover her mouth with her hand like a schoolgirl. At Valrulf's humorously raised eyebrow, she waved him off and broke out into laughter.

"It's... it's just something funny I thought of. Don't worry about it," she finally managed to get out. By the time she had finished letting her chuckles leave her, the group was standing at the door to the outside.

"Well, this is where I part ways with you two. I'm headed to Riverwood to see if I can get any help from my family there. You two should consider visiting me if you get the chance. I know people who make some fine bread and mead," Ralof said, shaking hands with Valrulf and Ayala both before opening his mouth to speak again, "I hope you'll consider joining the Stormcloaks in the future, and I mean both of you. We need good men and women to help against the Imperials. You can even start over from the bottom of the ranks, Ayala. You said you didn't like being an officer."

"I think we'll consider it," Valrulf replied after looking down and receiving a nod from Ayala, "But I don't know about the rebellion part. I know I'll certainly look into joining up later, but I don't know if I can drag Ayala into that, so it may be after she parts ways with me. I am charged with her safety from now on, you know, and I can't watch her and serve in an army at the same time."

"Hmph... Nonsense, friend. After we do what you said we would, we'll see if I still want to follow you around. If I decide to stay with you after that, I'll probably go where you go. I don't know about Stormcloaks, but... after hearing what Valrulf said about their trigger-happy treason charges, I don't want to be a part of an empire anymore," Ayala said, standing closer to Valrulf as if she had already made her decision.

Ralof looked at Valrulf, then at Ayala, who was looking at the monster of a man beside her. The blond Nord man smiled a knowing smile and winked at Valrulf, gesturing to the former Imperial officer in their company. Valrulf held in a chuckle and winked back, as if to say "We'll see what happens."

With that last interaction, Ralof opened the door, all three stepped into the light of the late afternoon, and then they parted ways.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another five days have passed, and thus I do believe it would be a great time to sponsor a third chapter of this story I've had fun writing up over the past few weeks. Please, do enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: If I had owned TeS, I would have made Serana marriageable.**

"Where to, oh protector of defenseless Imperial praefects?" Ayala sarcastically asked, following Valrulf down the stone trail toward the main road, watching Ralof's form disappear in the other direction, toward Riverwood.

"We're headed to Falkreath to pick up some things from a stash I have hidden in the town with a friend. There is a set of steel plate armor fit for me, a greatsword, and some gold in a coin purse there that we can use until we get to Winterhold. On our way north, we're headed to Whiterun to tell Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon attack at Helgen. While we're still in friendly territory for someone so dressed as yourself, you'll be getting a new set of armor as well. Can't have anyone in Windhelm seeing you in those rags and pots," Valrulf long-windedly replied. He thumbed the ax in the hem of his prisoner's clothes and pushed Ayala slightly ahead of him so that she would take the lead, even though he would guide them.

"Why am I going up front? Aren't you supposed to be the one protecting me?" Ayala protested, trying to move back behind Valrulf. He chuckled and put his hand on her back again, gently shoving her in front of him.

"We're still in an area where some Imperials could see us. If you're in front, they'll assume that you're transporting me. Helgen is behind us, and the plume of smoke rising from it should be an obvious signal as to why we're heading away from it. You also obviously haven't had much experience with Skyrim. People will walk up to you and try to goad you into fighting if they think they can take you. If they don't, they'll attack from behind. I'm... well, I'm rather large. One look at the both of us and they'll decide to attack from behind. When I get geared up and you get some new armor, then I'll walk in front of you," he let out.

The two of them walked in silence for what must have been hours, the slightly chilly Falkreath Hold air brushing into the armored ex-praefect and curling around the arms and legs of the less clothed of the two. Being a Nord originally from Windhelm, Valrulf shrugged off the not-as-chilly air and smiled mirthfully when he saw the Nord woman in front of him shiver as the plates of her armor grew colder. He moved forward and leaned down to speak in a normal tone past the whistling of the wind through the trees.

"In Skryim, if you start to get cold, it'd be best to jog instead of walking. You'll learn that you'll not only not get tired quickly in the cold air, but you'll start to see some better muscles in your legs and some better warmth in your armor. Come on, let's get to it," he spoke calmly, pointing at the road ahead of him as he finished. Ayala shivered and nodded her approval, glad that she was not the only one who had thought of picking up the pace, though her reason was to get inside as soon as possible.

The traveling duo sped up to a significant jog, though Valrulf had to slow down his long, leggy strides to allow Ayala to stay ahead of him at times. They figured that they would make it to Falkreath before nightfall at the pace they were setting, and so neither bothered to speak to the other to avoid slowing down. The path they used touched the mountain on which Helgen rested another two times before they passed what the male of the two referred to as "Shriekwind Basin" and the trail curved southward toward the Township of Falkreath.

* * *

It was nearly nightfall when they arrived at the gates of the town, and Valrulf knew the shops would be closing in a matter of two hours or less, so he bade to get Ayala to hurry and reach the blacksmith before such a thing could happen. They moved down the short entrance to town and into Main Street. Ayala almost lost Valrulf halfway through Main Street, but he gently grasped her arm and pulled her over toward a house near the center of town where a forge billowed smoke into the air. Beside said forge was a man in a red smock with a blue apron, hammering away at what looked to be an iron chestpiece with a smith's hammer.

"Have you any time to discuss something of importance, Lod?" Ayala heard Valrulf call out to the man at the smithing table, who looked up at the wall ahead of him and then turned around to smile at the massive man beside her.

"Valrulf, the old warrior himself? It's been an era since last you came to pick something up. Last I heard you were heading down here for some hunting. Get anything good?" He asked, wiping his hands off on the apron of his smock and putting the hammer down on the pile of logs next to the forge.

"No, but someone surely got me, though I got away. I got captured by Imperials who caught me resting at the gate and suspected me of treason for it. We just escaped from Helgen, where I was to be executed without any sort of voice. Charge-happy, those fools can be, no offense to you, Ayala," Valrulf explained, elbowing her in the arm as he said the last part.

"Err... None taken. They didn't take to training me or the men up to survive, so I don't think I'll find myself caring much for them anymore," she nervously muttered, though a look at Lod told her she might have said something incorrect.

"Loyalty is the best virtue anyone can have, especially for a Nord woman such as yourself. I don't like the Imperials and their meddling, but I don't like traitors either," Lod said, giving Valrulf an odd look and then resting a searing gaze on Ayala, who squirmed and looked up at the tall man beside her to bail her out.

"No, my old friend, I do believe it was the Imperials that betrayed her first. They're teaching their officers to ignore the men and keep amongst themselves," Valrulf extrapolated, putting a hand on Ayala's pauldron at Lod's understanding look, "Besides, I really didn't give her much of a choice but to leave with me. She's only with me now because the Empire wasn't quite what it made itself out to be."

"Hmph. I suppose I understand why you'd want to leave then. The shop closes up in an hour, so I have to turn the forge off soon. Is there anything you needed, Valrulf?" Lod asked, picking up the smithing hammer and making his way over to the table to hammer away at it again.

"That stash that I have underneath the forge, I need to get the things inside of it out today. I also need a new set of armor for this lovely lass," the gigantic man replied, pointing with his thumb over at the woman beside him, who looked down at the ground and cleared her throat after hearing the compliment.

"You remember how to get into the stash. It's hidden behind the house under layer of dirt and grass now that I've had the chance to fix it up a bit, but it's in the same spot. Everything in there you've already paid for, so take whatever you need. I even left your gold alone when the collectors came by and I was a coin or two behind, you lucky lug," Lod grinned, winking at the two of them, "I'll have this set of armor done in just a tad. If you don't find some armor for the lass down there, come back up and I'll see if I have anything that fits her."

The burlier Nord nodded once in affirmation and led Ayala to the rear of the building in search for the trapdoor to his stash of weapons and armor, paid for by his large family inheritance some time ago, and bolstered by the profits made off of his hunting and mercenary work. The trapdoor was a simple iron-banded and steel-riveted trapdoor with an iron latch, hidden beneath a bush and a layer of grassy dirt. By no means was it an expert hiding spot, but so one who passed through Riverwood ever searched the rears of the buildings for secret doors underneath bushes, so his stash was mostly safe.

After opening the trapdoor, Valrulf simply jumped into the dark opening it offered, surprising Ayala, who expected a ladder to climb. She followed him down with some slight trepidation, not quite used to diving into unknown orifices in the basements of strange buildings. Nonetheless, she braved a jump into the trapdoor and landed with a small grunt, bending at the knees as she winced from the small stab of pain in her calves. That was certainly a jump designed for people with longer legs and taller bodies. As the feeling in her legs returned to her, she looked up to spot a brazier lit in the center of the room, courtesy of the Ovzul.

When the light from the brazier reflected off of a plethora of metal-tinted, shiny objects, she opened her eyes wide and gazed upon the many suits of iron, steel, studded-leather, and plate armors that were hanging on walls and adorning mannequins. There were at least twenty different sets of armor, each with unique designs or engravings upon their chestpieces and pauldrons, some with similar markings on their grieves and bracers as well. On the table in the center of the room were plenty of blades, each a different size and weight.

She was pulled from her awe at the arsenal when she noticed that Valrulf was tugging his prisoner's clothing over his head and standing in front of another table that held a massive set of comfortable and flexible clothing and a full set of chain-mail armor, most likely for wearing underneath another set of armor. She swiftly turned her head when she caught sight of Valrulf's "unmentionable" areas, feeling the most intense heat behind her cheeks that she had ever experienced.

Her eyes traveled down from that area and traced his thighs and calves, then back up to his torso as his muscles flexed when he reached for the clothes on the table. Her breath caught in her chest, and her thoughts trailed far, far away from where they should have been. When a shirt interrupted the sight of his chest, she snapped out of her staring contest with his torso. She let out a cough and then stared up at the ceiling of the basement, ignoring the large man's chuckles as he finished clothing himself.

Ayala turned her head back to him when she heard the clinking of chain-mail over chain-mail, watching him put the hefty links of metal over his entire body as if it hindered absolutely none of his movements, which was likely considering the level of expertise he had shown when annihilating her unnamed squad of men earlier. Outfitted in a full-body sock of chain-mail, Valrulf slinked over to a set of armor which particularly caught Ayala's eye, being engraved with what looked like spirals of wind in embroidering gold all over the metal plates.

Valrulf surprisingly needed no help getting on the armor, and managed in five minutes what Ayala was sure would have taken her hours. He was soon standing in front of her in a full set of engraved and embroidered steel plate armor, a forged steel greatsword (which really acted as a longsword considering his massive size) on his back and a kited tower shield on his left arm. His helmet was couched under his right armpit, waiting for him to put it on. With his defined facial features and the eyes of a tricky devil, Ayala thought he looked quite fetching in a full set of special armor, though she thought he would look better if she could see him out of it again.

"So, how do I look now that I'm in this recreation of my old gear? It's a remake of the armor I wore two years ago, when I was a particularly effective mercenary," he questioned. He did not receive an answer. Instead, he stopped polishing the chestpiece of his armor with a rag and looked up to see his companion (who he had caught looking at him earlier) staring blankly at him. He shook his head and put on his helmet, a great-helm that matched the embroidery of his armor, walking forward and practically dragging Ayala to the trapdoor by the arm. She did not stop staring up at him as he reached the opening in the ground.

* * *

"She's like a schoolgirl with a deep infatuation, that girl is," Lod said as he looked Ayala up and down, noting her absent look as she stared at the armored man in the room with them. Her eyes had not left Valrulf's armored form since he had put on the armor, and so he had practically had to plant her into a chair by pushing her down by her shoulders.

"I don't even think she can hear you, Lod. I haven't seen it this bad since Ruthla Daggershield back when we were in our late teens. She was always enamored with the soldiers when they marched into town, remember? Couldn't even get her to respond if you kicked her," Valrulf returned, sharing some stew with Lod, who had invited himself and Ayala to stay for a late dinner before they headed to the inn nearby for a night's rest.

"You were a mercenary back then, as well. Caught her staring at you more than once, I did. We always did hate waiting a full year for you to show back up with some new adventure story you had about yourself and your mercenary friends," Lod finished, sipping at his stew and watching Valrulf stir his own food.

"Ah, speaking of adventures, when should we stop by to collect that studded leather set I bought for Ayala over there?" the armored Nord asked.

"Come pick it up tomorrow morning. I already had a set mostly done for display- should fit her well enough, though," Lod replied, though he stopped what he was going to say next when he heard a noise from Ayala, who shuffled around and looked around the room as if she had no idea how she had gotten into the building. When she regained her senses, she looked at the table with the two men sitting at it and found both of them staring at her expectantly.

"What? What!?" she asked, and then nearly shouted. Both of the men in the room broke into raucous laughter as they realized that she had hardly noticed she had been staring for at least ten minutes.

"Nothing, lass, nothing. We just discovered why you really joined the Imperial Legion," Valrulf managed through laughter.

"I told you I joined up because I didn't think my family business was the right way to go. Why do you think I joined?" she indignantly repulsed.

"You like a man in uniform," Lod replied.

Both men broke into laughter again. Ayala just scowled.

* * *

The night broke not long after the trio had enjoyed their supper together, and so Valrulf finally bade adieu to Lod and dragged Ayala along with him to the inn, where they rented two rooms for the night. The fairer of the two followed the more masculine one into his room to see if he needed help taking off his armor (at least, that was what she told herself), but had been shocked to see him lie down on the bed in his full set of plate armor with chain-mail underneath.

"What in Talos's name do you think you're doing!?" she hushedly and rushedly whispered, confused and a bit afflicted by the thought of sleeping in heavy armor.

"Doesn't everyone sleep in their armor?"


End file.
